


you’re coming down (your hands are shaking)

by wolfwalkerspirit



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, this can really be seen as romantic or platonic btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 03:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21155090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwalkerspirit/pseuds/wolfwalkerspirit
Summary: ‘“The blood...” he started, voice breaking off, “there was so much blood.” Sparing a glance down at his hands, he stared hard at them, like if he scrutinized the lines and creases of his fingers long enough, the blood he spilled would be there to stain his skin crimson, pooling in his palm, dripping from his fingertips. But magic was clean and distant, far from the messy spray of fresh blood, and no matter how long he looked, it wouldn’t come. Byleth wondered if he saw it there, though, in his mind.‘orByleth comforts Linhardt after the student’s first battle.





	you’re coming down (your hands are shaking)

Byleth had rarely ever felt guilty. She held a firm belief that, if something was truly worth doing, there was no reason to feel bad about it or regret it. Even working as a mercenary, when she had tough decisions to make with morality in question, she made the best choice she could and tried not to look back on the alternative. It was simply the most reasonable, least messy way of living. It was too easy to get bogged down in guilt or regret over past decisions, and she’d seen it happen to even the best of the mercenaries she had traveled with in the past. 

Yet, now, she could say without a doubt, surely and unequivocally, that she felt horribly guilty. 

The student’s first real battle, no longer a mock against the other houses or training with the knights, had been against a group of bandits. And, though inexperienced, they had done exceptionally well in dealing with the threat. With some assistance and guidance, Edelgard had lead her classmates well, and everyone followed her orders without question. Even the more hesitant students, like Bernadetta, had gotten real, valuable combat experience. 

Even though it was a bit of an eye opening experience for quite a few of them, spirits were high with their victory. They had done Byleth, and the church, proud with the efforts, and though they still had much more to learn, she was content to let everyone celebrate. Besides, that would give her time to address the concern that had been lodged in her stomach like a rock ever since the battle ended a few brief moments ago. Linhardt. 

Excusing herself from the excited chatter, Byleth hurried off to look for him. And with every passing moment, guilt roiled and built in her chest, her mind replaying the final moments of the battle. Up through most of the confrontation, Linhardt had managed to stay back, lending aid to his allies when they needed it and supporting from the sidelines. But, with a final rush of bandits charging in an attempt to finish them off, Edelgard had ordered him into the fray to fight, and to his credit, he listened and performed well. Though, when a bandit fell before him, lashed and beaten by a razored gust of wind magic, Byleth could never forget the absolute horror in his wide, blue eyes. He was trembling all over, ghostly pale, as he feebly stepped back, gaze fixed on the dead, bloodied body lying at his feet. Never, before, had she ever regretted something so much as making him participate in that battle. 

Shaking the thought from her head, Byleth focused all her attention into finding him. Once they had secured the battleground and confirmed all of the bandits had been dealt with, Linhardt disappeared like a wisp of smoke, there one moment, faded out of sight the next. Taking her best guess as to where he might be, she slipped into the edge of the forest bordering the field where they had fought. It was shadier and calmer there, dapples of sunshine poking through the canopy to fall warmly to the grass and clover underfoot. The occasional bird sung out a lilting melody, flitting from branch to branch, but otherwise, everything was still and quiet. 

Sure enough, Byleth was relieved to find Linhardt crouched behind a tree, back to the trunk, knees pulled to his chest. When she stepped closer, a twig snapping underfoot, he startled and urgently searched out the source of the sound, eyes wide and a little glazed. Though, when he saw who it was, some of the tension visibly drained from his body, his shoulders drooping and the panicked expression falling away. “Professor,” he said by way of greeting, and the relief in his tone hardly masked the defensive numbness buried deeper within.

Making her way to his side, Byleth crouched down near him, but kept a little distance, like she might spook him if she got too close. “Are you doing alright?” she asked gently, immediately regretting it. This boy, already, so sensitive and vastly different from any of the mercenaries she had grown up with, was teaching her more than she ever wanted to know about guilt and regret. Not to mention empathy, because the dazed, almost horrified expression that crossed his face as he was reminded of the things he did made her chest clench tight. 

“I never wanted to kill anyone,” Linhardt breathed, the quiet murmur shaky and wavering. Pulling his legs tighter to his chest, he rested his chin against his knees, dropping Byleth’s gaze to stare straight ahead. 

“I’m sorry that it came to that,” Byleth said, every word genuine and true. She had grown so cold and accustomed to killing that it was hard to even imagine not feeling okay about it. Though she weighed every life she took with the utmost care, doing her best to make sure that her actions were for the side of justice, and took it all seriously, blood and death didn’t bother her in the slightest. It was the price of protecting the people who couldn’t protect themselves, as well as her livelihood. But there were innocents, sheltered from that reality, that didn’t share her pragmatic point of view.

“The blood...” he started, voice breaking off, “there was so much blood.” Sparing a glance down at his hands, he stared hard at them, like if he scrutinized the lines and creases of his fingers long enough, the blood he spilled would be there to stain his skin crimson, pooling in his palm, dripping from his fingertips. But magic was clean and distant, far from the messy spray of fresh blood, and no matter how long he looked, it wouldn’t come. Byleth wondered if he saw it there, though, in his mind. 

Inching a little closer, she slowly reached out for his shoulder, laying a gentle hand there to pull him back from his daze. When he looked up, shaking his head just a little, he clenched his hands to fists at his side. Byleth didn’t miss the way they trembled, though.

She was almost glad when the dread and quiet panic left his face for a moment, but the grimace that rose up in its place was hardly much better. “I’ve never been able to handle blood well,” he choked out by way of explanation, clear nausea rolling over him now. With the shock of it all, only processing everything now, Byleth had no doubt he was replaying every detail of the scene in his head. The bruised and broken body, seeping blood out to stain the grass red. The name of the spell still fresh off his lips. The crushing weight of realization of what he had just done. 

Linhardt shuddered and pressed the back of his wrist to his lips, swallowing hard at what Byleth could only assume was bile rising in his throat. His complextion washed even paler, the color draining from his face, replaced by a sickly ashen cast. Wishing she could do more to help her student, Byleth diligently tucked what hair had fallen loose from his ponytail behind his ears to keep it clear of his face, concern furrowing her brow ever so slightly. 

She wasn’t quite sure how many moments they sat there, Linhardt with his eyes shut tight, breathing in measured counts in through his nose, Byleth watching with concern and offering whatever silent support she could. Though, she worried that it was getting to be long enough that the rest of the students would start to look for them soon, and she doubted Linhardt would handle being crowded and questioned well in that moment. And as much as Byleth had already come to love each of the Black Eagles, they weren’t always the most socially perceptive bunch about that sort of thing, not that Byleth had any room to talk. 

“You said you don’t deal well with blood, right?” Byleth asked gently, settling with her back against the same tree as Linhardt, not far from his side. 

He gave a slight nod, something of a grimace flickering across his features. “I get nauseous and light headed,” he replied gingerly. That guilt in Byleth’s stomach started to churn a little again, wishing she had been able to shelter him from it all. She had known ahead of time that he didn’t want to be in the battle, but he never properly explained why, not that it would have made a difference. As a student, he was obligated to participate, but Byleth still wished she would have known. Maybe she could have prepared him better. 

But that was all hindsight, and it was already done. All she could do now was make sure he was alright. “Then try not to think about it. It’s all in your head right now, not out here. Just focus on me, okay?” she urged. 

At her advice, Linhardt’s eyes flickered open, bright and noticeably clearer than they had been before. He caught her gaze, a little anxious, and when Byleth held out her hand in offering, he took it. His fingers still trembled against hers, but it was reduced to a subtle shiver now. The solid warmth of his hand was reassuring somehow, and Byleth hoped he felt the same way, grounded. And, slowly, some of the color started to come back to his face, and he stopped looking so ill. 

“I appreciate you taking the effort to come find me,” Linhardt said once he seemed to be feeling a little better. 

“I couldn’t exactly abandon a student,” Byleth replied with a tilt of her head, hardly seeing any other option than to find him. Especially when she had been at least partially at fault for him disappearing in the first place. 

“I suppose that’s true,” Linhardt replied, a weak chuckle falling from his lips. “Regardless, I’d like to thank you,” he added in a brighter tone. 

Merely nodding in return, the slightest hint of a smile playing at her lips, Byleth got to her feet. She brushed the stray bits of grass from her tights, torn from the battle, and let out a quiet sigh. “Do you think you can stand now?” she asked, extending a hand to help him up. 

Linhardt smiled a little, a resolved, steely thing, and took her hand. Helping him up, Byleth held tight to his hand when he swayed a little, worry creeping back over her. It must have shown on her face, which was rare enough in itself, because Linhardt took the effort to assure her. 

“I really am feeling better, professor. No need to be so concerned,” he said, gently easing his hand back out of hers once he had steadied himself. And something about the way he looked at her, blue eyes clear and honest, if not a little weary, made her believe every word. 

As they made their way back to the group, the others welcoming them good naturedly, Byleth felt some of the guilt that had been eating at her start to clear. Even if tough things were waiting down the road for them, she would always be there to help her students pick the pieces up and put themselves together again. Because, in the time she had gotten to know them, she had come to care fiercely for each and every one. And nothing short of a horrid, twisted miracle could keep her away from them. Byleth would give her very life for them, and keep on fighting through hell to be back at their sides. 

No matter how hard things got, she would be there for them, and that was enough for her.


End file.
